Wrong Number, Right Person
by Dreamin
Summary: Sherlolly AU: Molly tells her boyfriend she loves him only to realize she called the wrong number. Sherlock is intrigued by this complete stranger who called him.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Okay, I'm taking something of a risk with this story. I feel like Sherlock is acting out-of-character here, though to what degree is probably a matter of opinion. This story was inspired by an OTP prompt - "called the wrong number and confessed my love to you in a sappy way before you could get a word in." I might add that there's some definite Tom bashing here.

Disclaimer: Not mine, it all belongs to the BBC.

* * *

 _Today's the day_ , Molly Hooper thought as she eyed her mobile. _Today's the day I tell Tom how I feel. How much I truly love him. I know he doesn't love me back but that will come in time, right? Right._ She sat down at her kitchen island and dialed her boyfriend's number, her hands shaking slightly with nerves.

He answered on the second ring. "Hello?"

 _His voice sounds deeper than usual. Maybe he's coming down with something._ "Honey, hi, it's me. Don't say anything, just listen. I might not get all of this out if you say anything." She knew she was speaking too fast but she didn't care. "I know we haven't been dating long. Six weeks isn't long by anyone's standards. Well, except for maybe mine, I haven't really had a lasting relationship before. Anyway, I wanted to tell you that I love you. You make me happier than I've ever been. And, um, that's in and out of bed, I might add."

"I'm not-"

"Not in love with me, I know." She sighed quietly. _I knew that was coming._ "I just hope that your heart is open to maybe loving me at some point. You're a good man, Tom, probably too good for me."

"That's just it, I'm not Tom. You've dialed the wrong number."

"Oh God…" _I cannot believe this…_ "Um, please, forget this call ever happened."

"What call?" the man asked casually.

"Bless you," she murmured gratefully before she hung up. Feeling utterly defeated, Molly laid her head on her arms. _Stupid, stupid, stupid…_

* * *

A couple of streets away, Sherlock Holmes sat in his favorite chair, staring at his mobile. He didn't notice his best friend had entered the flat until the other man spoke up.

"Something wrong with your phone?" John asked. He sat down on the sofa and opened the Sunday newspaper he'd brought with him, taking a sip of his Starbucks coffee. Since his daughter Rosie was now teething, John often came over on weekend mornings for a little peace and quiet, leaving Mary to care for the baby. They switched in the evenings, giving Mary a chance to go out with her friends.

"I just received the strangest call," Sherlock said, a bit dazed.

John looked up from an article about the latest celebrity divorce. "Is it about a case?" He took another sip.

"No, a woman just told me she loves me."

John spat out his coffee. "What?! Please tell me this isn't another Janine."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I just said this isn't for a case. Some woman called my number by mistake. She then proceeded to tell me she loves me, thinking I'm her undeserving boyfriend."

"Who says he's undeserving?" his former flatmate asked, looking interested despite himself.

"She said Tom is too good for her. Therefore, she is insecure and he is doing nothing to help her self-confidence. She also said that at six weeks, this is her longest relationship so far. From her voice and manner of speaking, I estimate she is thirty-three. A bit old for never having a serious relationship."

"You should talk," John muttered.

Sherlock ignored him. "It's another sign of insecurity. And yet, she said he makes her happy." _I don't need to tell him the "in and out of bed" part_. "So, he must be doing the typical boyfriend things – holding the door for her, taking out her chair at a restaurant, patiently listening to her talk about her day – without giving her the support she truly needs. She actually thinks there's nothing wrong with loving someone who doesn't love her, who might never love her. He's the one who doesn't deserve her."

John raised an eyebrow. "I take it you didn't tell her that."

"She didn't give me a chance." Sherlock absently took a sip of his tea, which had grown cold since the phone call. He grimaced in disgust.

"What did she do when you told her you're not Tom?"

"She asked me to forget the call ever happened." Sherlock got up and went into the kitchen to put his cup in the microwave, which was, for once, empty of experiments.

John followed him, his exasperation clear in his face and voice. "Well, obviously, you haven't. If you're so concerned about this woman's welfare, the best thing you can do is exactly what she asked."

"I can't do that, John," Sherlock said as he took his reheated tea out of the microwave and took a sip. "I can't let her waste her love on a man so undeserving."

"Since when do you care about love?" John asked. "You've never felt romantic love yourself, what's it to you if this woman wastes it?"

"You're the one who keeps reminding me I have a heart. Shouldn't you be happy that I'm finally using it?"

John took a deep breath then let it out slowly. "Sometimes, Sherlock, it's better to let people make their own mistakes, especially when it comes to matters of the heart. You don't even know this woman."

Sherlock looked down at his tea, saying quietly, "When she told me she loved me, even though it wasn't really me she was talking to, I felt … something. It was small, like a single beat of a bee's wings, but it was there. I can't even define it." _Now I sound like a lovesick poet. Marvelous._

He looked up to see John staring at him in disbelief then throwing his head back with laughter. "Oh, this is rich! You're so emotionally constipated that a perfect stranger mistakenly declaring her love for you is enough to jump-start your heart. Did she tell you she wants you, too?"

Sherlock felt himself blushing and mentally cursed his fair skin. "She said 'I' made her happy in and out of bed."

"The poor woman has awakened a sleeping dragon and she has absolutely no idea," John said, shaking his head. Seeing Sherlock was about to protest, he held up a hand. "She is going to stay ignorant, Sherlock. The last thing this woman needs in her life is an overgrown teenager with a history of illicit drug use and no experience whatsoever when it comes to relationships or sex."

"That's not entirely accurate," Sherlock muttered, completely embarrassed.

"Which part?"

"I'm not a virgin."

"And that's as far as we're going with this conversation," John muttered. He went back to the sofa, grabbed his newspaper and coffee, then turned to Sherlock, who had followed him. "I'm going home, you're going to behave yourself."

"And if I don't?" Sherlock asked, one eyebrow raised.

"I'll tell Mary."

That was enough to momentarily give him pause, but then the woman's words came back to him, along with the odd fluttering sensation in his chest. He knew he was quickly becoming addicted to that feeling. _Who knew emotions were their own little high?_ Keeping his voice and expression neutral, he promised, "I'll behave."

John assessed him for a moment then nodded. "Call me if you have a case."

"Of course, John." As soon as John left the building, Sherlock grabbed his mobile and pulled up the recent calls then dialed the number of one Molly Hooper.

* * *

Molly was still in her kitchen and just taking brownies out of the oven when her mobile rang. She set the pan on the stove then picked up her phone. _Who on Earth is Sherlock Holmes? His number is almost the same as… This must be my mortifying wrong number. Why would he call me back?_ "Hello?"

"Miss Hooper? This is Sherlock Holmes, I'm the person you mistakenly called earlier."

 _God, that deep voice is so sexy._ _Pull yourself together, Molly. You have a boyfriend, remember?_ "Mr. Holmes, I thought we agreed that we would forget the call ever happened."

"Yes, that is what we agreed, but I've found that I can't forget it. Miss Hooper, the things you said told me that you are in a very unsatisfying relationship. I would be a complete heel if I allowed you to stay with him."

"Allowed?" Molly asked. _I cannot believe this._ "Mr. Holmes-"

"Sherlock, please."

"Mr. Holmes," she said firmly, "until that phone call, you had no idea of my existence. You certainly have no right to tell me who I should or shouldn't date."

"I am well aware of that but please, hear me out." He paused and when Molly didn't object, though she couldn't explain why, he went on. "You are a woman dealing with a certain level of insecurity. Whether that comes from your work, your looks, or something else entirely, I don't know without more data to go on. Regardless, this Tom is not giving you the emotional support you desperately need. The fact that you are still with him, and want to take your relationship to another level, as they say, baffles me. You are an intelligent woman, why can't you see that he is completely unworthy of you?"

Molly's throat was choked with emotion and she felt her eyes tearing up but she took a deep breath and managed to keep her voice steady. "I'm with Tom because he's the only man I've dated who accepts all of me. You don't know me, Mr. Holmes, and you certainly don't know what I need."

"What if I were to get to know you? If I knew exactly what you needed and decided Tom is able to adequately fill that role, then my conscience would be clear."

"I don't care about your conscience, Mr. Holmes," Molly said quietly, "but if that's what it takes to convince you to leave me alone, then alright. I suppose you want us to meet in person."

"That would be the best way to assess your needs, yes. It's almost lunchtime, let me treat you. There's a chip shop near Charing Cross."

"I know it. How will I know you? Can you describe yourself?"

"Six foot-one, thirty-six, curly black hair, blue-green eyes. I'll be wearing my Belstaff – black with red thread on the buttonholes. And you?"

"Five foot-three, thirty-three, straight brown hair, brown eyes. Um, I'll be wearing a white jumper with embroidered cherries all over it."

"Alright. An hour, then?"

"That'll be fine."

As soon as Molly was off the phone, she put the brownie pan on a cooling rack, mentally cursing herself the entire time. _Idiot._ _This is only going to get you in trouble. Assuming this guy isn't a rapist-murderer-psychopath, you're still having lunch with another man behind Tom's back. A man with the sexiest voice you've ever heard. Of course, there's no guarantee that the rest of him is as sexy._

That done, Molly went to her bedroom to change. _What do I have that says "confident but unavailable?"_ She settled on a pair of red jeans she hardly ever wore, a black sleeveless top, black ballet flats, and the cherry jumper. Checking her appearance in the hallway mirror, she grabbed her purse and keys.

* * *

Sherlock entered the chosen chip shop and looked around at the other patrons. None of them matched Molly's description so he placed an order for two then found an unoccupied booth in the back. He sat down and immediately went into his Mind Palace, looking for all the data he had on healthy relationships. None of the information came from personal experience, of course. The closest thing he'd had to a relationship was with Irene Adler, and that was far from healthy. _Not to mention long over._ His parents and the Watsons, however, were the best examples by any standard.

By the time he opened his eyes, in front of him were two plates of fish and chips, and an attractive young woman wearing a cherry jumper. He blinked in surprise.

"Mr. Holmes?" she asked, smiling a bit.

Sherlock felt the pleasant flutter in his chest again. He nodded. "Miss Hooper, I presume."

"Yes. I tried talking to you when I got here but you were completely lost in thought."

"I was in my Mind Palace." He started to eat his fish and noticed Molly was already half-done.

"Your what?" she asked, a chip halfway to her mouth.

"My Mind Palace. It's a memory technique. I store bits of information, memories, in various 'rooms' I picture in my head. It enables me to recall pertinent data quickly."

"I see," she said, and he could tell from her tone of voice that she actually did. "I could have used something like that in medical school. What were you looking for?"

"Information on healthy relationships. Lacking any personal experience in that area, I have to rely on the relationships of my friends and parents."

Molly choked a bit on the sip of her soda she had just taken. She coughed a couple of times then stared at him, incredulous. "Wait, how can you lecture me about healthy relationships when you've never had one yourself?"

"Personal experience in anything is not necessary if one can rely on the experience of others." Sherlock found himself hoping he didn't look as smug as he felt.

Molly raised an eyebrow. "I can think of several scenarios where that's completely untrue, but never mind. What do you need from me to complete your assessment of my life and relationship with Tom?"

"I have all the information in front of me, thank you." At her raised eyebrow, he went on. "You're not insecure about your work as a pathologist, therefore it must be your looks."

Her cheeks reddened but she plowed ahead. "How do you know I'm a pathologist?"

"There are telltale signs on your hands, while your sleeves and collar tell me you are proud of the work that you do. I would go into detail but that's not what we are here to discuss. You wear colorful jumpers and loose clothing to distract people from what you perceive to be a general lack of curves. I'd have to see you without them to be certain, but from what I can see, your measurements are nothing to be ashamed of."

Molly's blush deepened as she muttered, "We really shouldn't be talking about this."

"We wouldn't be if your boyfriend appreciated you," Sherlock pointed out.

"Tom likes my curves just fine the way they are," she said defensively. She absently fiddled with a bra strap.

"He wants you to wear a push-up bra," Sherlock deduced. "Or perhaps even have augmentation surgery."

Molly didn't say anything at first then she sighed quietly. "The former. I would have left him if he suggested the latter."

"You should leave him anyway. From what I can tell, your breasts are perfect the way they are." He took care to have nothing that could be considered lascivious in his tone – he was simply stating a fact.

"Sherlock!" Molly stared at him aghast, her cheeks flaming.

He leaned back and folded his arms, smirking. "At least I got you to call me Sherlock." She gaped at him so he continued. "If he can't accept, no, if he can't _celebrate_ you the way you are, he doesn't deserve you. You are an intelligent, talented, and beautiful woman and as I said, you are clearly too good for him."

Molly stared down at her almost empty plate, saying quietly, "I can't remember the last time Tom called me beautiful."

"Did you tell him you love him?" Sherlock asked gently.

"God, no – it took all the courage I had to say it to you." Her head jerked up and she looked at him, surprised. "I mean, to say it to you, thinking you were Tom."

He nodded. "The fact that the words don't come easily should be another sign, Molly."

"You said you've never had a healthy relationship yourself so how would you know?" she asked bitterly. "Lots of people have a hard time saying those words for the first time. It's a big risk, saying them when you don't know if the other person feels the same."

"But you do know – you're convinced Tom doesn't love you back."

"He might."

"He doesn't – if he did, he wouldn't treat you this way."

She stared at him in a way that told him she was giving that serious thought. After several minutes, she said quietly, "You're right. I'm going to call him tonight and break it off." She ate another chip. "God, the last thing I want to do right now is go back in the dating pool. I am the current world record holder for first dates that never turn into second dates. No one wants to date a pathologist with a morbid sense of humor."

Sherlock smiled a bit. "I wouldn't say that. I've never had a problem with death and disease. And as far as having a morbid sense of humor, while I can't say that mine is, I can say with complete confidence that I can appreciate your sense of humor."

Molly's jaw dropped. "Are … are you saying you want to date me?"

"Does the Earth go around the Sun?"


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Okay, I thought this was a single-chapter story, but my reviewers have convinced me to keep going. The story behind Sherlock's name comes directly from William S. Baring-Gould's _Sherlock Holmes of Baker Street_. More Tom bashing ahead, btw. This one picks up right where ch 1 left off.

* * *

 _Molly's jaw dropped. "Are … are you saying you want to date me?"_

" _Does the Earth go around the Sun?"_

* * *

She shook her head in disbelief. "We just met."

"Yes, but I know more about you after just a matter of minutes than Tom knows after six weeks."

 _He's so arrogant. Normally, I'd be completely turned off, so why not now?_ "That's probably true." At his smirk, she went on. "We need to level the playing field, Sherlock. You know a lot about me but I know next to nothing about you."

"What do you want to know?"

"First of all, where on Earth did your parents find a name like Sherlock?"

He laughed softly. "Of all the things you could ask me, you want to know about my name first?"

"I've never met another Sherlock, so yes." She couldn't help smiling a bit. "You're stalling. Is there some greatly embarrassing secret behind your name?"

"No, I was named after two people – an influential 17th Century theologian that my father admires and my mother's favorite novelist."

Molly took another sip of her soda, smiling a bit. "So, it's your middle name that's embarrassing?"

"Sherlock is my middle name. One of them, anyway."

"Ah, you're one of those," she said, grinning. "I've found men who go by their middle names to be rather insufferable."

He chuckled. "Oh, I'm insufferable, but it has nothing to do with preferring Sherlock over William."

"I see – you did it because you don't look like a William." Molly grinned. _He's too sexy to be a William. Those black curls are begging, absolutely begging to be touched. I could drown in those eyes, and that mouth was made for sin._ She reached out and stole a chip from his platter and nibbled on it.

"And what does a William look like?" he asked, smirking.

"All the Williams I've met have been straight-laced, utterly predictable men. Dependable, certainly, but not exactly exciting. If they go by Will, Bill, Billy, or Liam, though, it's a different story."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow then grinned knowingly. "If I don't look like a William to you, that must mean you think I'm exciting."

 _Drat…_ Molly felt herself blushing again. "Um… You said Sherlock is one of your middle names. So, what's your full name?"

"William Sherlock Scott Holmes," he said, still grinning. "William Sherlock was the theologian, and my mother loves Sir Walter Scott."

Molly nodded. " _Ivanhoe_ is a great book." She was still blushing and she knew it was inspiring Sherlock's grin, and vice versa. "So, W. Sherlock S. Holmes, what sort of man needs a Mind Palace to keep track of what he knows?"

"The sort of man who works as a consulting detective and needs to have a lot of ready information at his fingertips."

"Isn't that what Wikipedia is for?" She wasn't sure if the offended look he gave her was genuine or not but she pressed on. "And what is a consulting detective?"

"Private detectives help the general public but the police never go to them. I help the public and the police. The police need me more, if you ask me." He playfully swatted away her hand when she reached for another chip. "I'm surprised you haven't heard of me."

"Should I have?" she asked, smiling a bit. "You're not only a consulting detective, you're a celebrity consulting detective?"

"I'm frequently in the news if that's what you mean."

"Is that so?" Molly asked, grinning _. Let's see what kind of headlines he's made._ She pulled out her phone and Googled his name. Articles about various high-profile crimes went by as she scrolled downward. She glanced up at his face. _Wait, is he nervous? What's he afraid I'll find?_

She got her answer a couple of pages into the search. _Sir Shag-A-Lot? Seven times a night? The hell?_ She turned her phone around to show him _._ "Explain, please." She wasn't angry, just very, very curious.

He still swallowed hard. "I once faked a relationship for a case. Unfortunately, I didn't tell the woman that the relationship was fake."

Molly stared at him. "You made a woman think you were interested in her?" At his guilty look, she pressed further. "How far did you take it?"

"I asked her to marry me," he said, not meeting her eyes.

 _Oh my God…_ "Before that, you told her you loved her?" She waited for his nod before continuing. "And you slept with her?"

He looked up at that, his eyes meeting hers as he said firmly, "No, never." He waved a hand towards her phone. "Those articles were her way at getting back at me once she found out the truth."

A devil on her shoulder whispered, _Too bad. Seven times a night sounds like a great way to pass the time._ Molly tried to ignore that thought but she knew she was blushing again. "Even without sleeping with her, it was still a horrible thing to do."

"Believe me, I've been reminded of that many times by my friends," Sherlock muttered.

"But do you understand why?" _Please, tell me you understand. This thing we have can't go anywhere unless you do._

"I hurt her," he said simply. "She thought I was someone I wasn't."

"Have you ever been hurt like that?"

"No," he admitted. "The closest thing I've had to a relationship was an extended flirtation with a dominatrix that ended in a week-long tryst after I saved her life. We knew we weren't what the other needed and we separated amicably."

Molly stared at him and tried to process everything he'd just told her. _Dominatrix? Week-long tryst?_ The devil on her shoulder was dancing with joy. _Maybe the seven times a night wasn't so far off-base,_ it whispered.

"Are you reconsidering?" he asked, smiling weakly. He actually looked nervous.

 _No, I'm considering shagging you right now_ , she thought, blushing again. "Um, no. Just so we're clear, if you try anything like that with me…" She left the threat unsaid, but her eyes were dancing.

Sherlock chuckled. "Understood. So, what do newly-formed couples do next?"

* * *

"You promised!" John shouted the next morning. He had arrived once again with coffee and a newspaper. Sherlock's uncharacteristic happy grin had immediately set him on edge and he hadn't relented until Sherlock had told him everything. "You told me you wouldn't contact her!"

"I couldn't let her get her heart broken," Sherlock said defensively.

"I can't believe you actually broke up a relationship! This is low even for you, Sherlock."

"The break-up would have happened eventually, I simply sped things up a bit. John, if you met her, you would know I did the right thing."

John shook his head. "Do you even realize you're now her rebound relationship? This can't last."

"That's why I need your help," Sherlock pleaded. "You and Mary have an ideal marriage. You can show me what I need to do to keep her."

"I cannot believe this." He pulled his mobile from his cardigan pocket and called Mary. "Hi, love. I need you and Rosie to come over. Maybe you can talk some sense into Sherlock because I obviously can't."

"There's no need to bring Mary into this," Sherlock said quickly. "I'm sure she's busy with Rosie."

John ended the call then gave Sherlock a superior look. "They'll be right over. I suggest you get comfortable, Sherlock, because you're about to get an earful."

Sherlock flopped on the sofa. After a moment, his mobile chirped. He pulled it out of his dressing gown pocket and looked at the display.

 _10:16a I just broke up with Tom. Molly_

 _10:17a I thought you were going to do that last night. SH_

 _10:18a I tried but he wasn't at home and he wouldn't answer his phone. I went over today with coffee. Molly_

 _10:19a How did he take it? SH_

He waited for five minutes but there was no reply.

 _10:24a Molly? How did he take it? SH_

 _10:27a He called me several nasty things then threw his coffee in my face. I'm just grateful he prefers iced coffee. Molly_

 _10:28a Molly! You should report him to the police! SH_

 _10:29a No, it's alright. No real harm done. Molly_

 _10:30a Where are you? SH_

 _10:31a I'm at home. I know we said we'd go out tonight but I really don't feel like it. I hope you understand. Molly_

 _10:32a Of course I understand. SH_

He heard the sounds of Mary and Rosie coming up the stairs.

 _10:33a I'll call you later today. Please take care of yourself, Molly. SH_

Sherlock looked up from his phone to see Mary standing over him, twelve-month-old Rosie on her hip. Both of them were grinning at him.

"I can't believe you have a girlfriend!" Mary said happily. "A real one this time." She sat down in the chair by the sofa, settling Rosie on her lap. "Dish!"

John facepalmed.

* * *

Molly was huddled under her duvet, doing her best to ignore the rest of the world, when she heard a pounding on her door. _Oh God, whoever you are, just go away…_ Her phone chirped and Molly reluctantly picked it up from where it lay on her nightstand.

 _6:01p Molly, are you home? I'm outside. SH_

Molly groaned quietly as she got out of bed, pulled on her threadbare blue bathrobe over her banana print pajamas, and stepped into her slippers. A glance in the mirror confirmed her suspicions – her eyes were still red from crying, there were tear streaks down her face, and her hair was in tangles. She ducked into the bathroom to splash water on her face and comb her hair then she walked down the hallway to the front door of her flat and opened it. Sherlock stood there holding a white plastic bag of Chinese take-away and a grocery bag.

"Sherlock, I thought you were going to call me."

He smiled at her sympathetically. "I thought it would be more … considerate if I came over. I assumed you didn't feel up to eating dinner before this."

"Good assumption," she sighed. She let him inside then lead the way to her kitchen.

Sherlock set the bags on the peninsula then looked around the open concept kitchen-sitting room. "Nice," he said approvingly. He pulled cartons of food out of the take-away bag. "I got your favorite – sweet-and-sour chicken, egg rolls, crab Rangoon, and fried wonton. The peanut butter chicken is for me." Sherlock then unpacked the grocery bag. "I also got your favorite ice cream – Phish Food. The Half Baked is mine."

Molly stared at the food then at her newly-minted boyfriend. "I didn't tell you any of my favorites, how did you know?"

He smiled gently. "I didn't know, I saw."

She raised an eyebrow but when he didn't elaborate, she put the ice cream in the freezer while Sherlock took the cartons of Chinese to the sitting room. When Molly sat down on the couch, he gently tucked her multi-colored afghan around her lower half then sat down next to her. Sherlock passed Molly her food and a pair of chopsticks.

"Thanks," she said. "So, um…"

Sherlock smiled a bit. "My friend Mary suggested 'Netflix and chill' as a good second date."

"Second?" Molly asked, confused.

"Yes, the chip shop was our first."

Molly laughed weakly. "I guess it was." She picked up the remote then turned on the telly and brought up Netflix. "What are you in the mood for?"

Sherlock shook his head, his curls temporarily mesmerizing Molly. "No, this night is for you. You decide."

She smiled a bit. "Have you ever seen _Glee_?"

* * *

Three episodes later, Sherlock could honestly say he was addicted … to watching Molly's reactions to the show. Her soft laughter and happy sighs brought back the pleasant fluttering in his chest. Molly licked the last of her ice cream from her spoon and Sherlock felt an altogether different sensation lower.

 _Down, boy. You don't want to rush into anything. Mary said the way to make this relationship last is to take it slow. It would be better to not touch Molly at all for now._

Almost as if she'd read his mind, Molly scooted closer to him and laid her head on his shoulder. Throwing his best intentions out the window, Sherlock wrapped his arm around her.

"How is it that I only met you yesterday yet I feel completely safe with you?" she murmured.

"You're an excellent judge of character," he murmured back, smiling a bit.

"Mmm…" She continued to watch the show but Sherlock noticed her reactions were becoming less frequent. When she stopped reacting altogether, he knew she was asleep.

 _Now here's a pleasant little dilemma. Do I carry her to her bedroom? Do I wake her and tell her goodnight? Do I just let her sleep? I'd promised Mary I'd be a gentleman. What's the most gentlemanly thing to do?_ He remembered it was Sunday and she'd have to work the next day. Decision made, he gently picked her up, afghan and all, and carried her to her bedroom.

Molly woke up just as he was laying her on the bed. She blinked up at him sleepily, confused. "Sherlock?"

"You fell asleep," he murmured. "I would have let you stay like that but I know you have to work tomorrow."

She nodded, her expression torn. He couldn't help hoping if she was thinking of asking him to stay. Eventually, a resigned look won out.

"When can I see you again?" she asked.

"Whenever you want." He smiled a bit. "Unlike you, I don't have a regular schedule. As long as I'm not on a case, I'm all yours." _Did that sound sexual? I didn't mean it to sound sexual._

She blinked in surprise. "Oh, um, how about dinner on Tuesday night?"

His smile widened. "That's fine. I'll call you tomorrow." He hesitated a moment before leaning down to kiss her hair. "Goodnight, Molly."

"Goodnight, Sherlock."


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: This is the last chapter, this time I'm certain. More Tom bashing ahead (he gets what's coming to him).

* * *

A text alert woke Molly Wednesday morning a week later. She stared at the text in disbelief, made one phone call for confirmation, then texted Sherlock.

 _7:15a Good morning, Sherlock. Molly_

When he didn't reply right away, she got up and pulled on her bathrobe then went into the kitchen to start the coffee maker. The pot was half-full by the time he replied.

 _7:37a It's too early to be morning, but good whatever-this-is anyway. SH_

She grinned as she read it, loving his attempt at being polite.

 _7:38a I just got a text from work – my part of the building is closed. There's apparently a rat infestation and exterminators are being brought in, so I'm off today. Molly_

 _7:39a Excellent! SH_

 _7:40a You wouldn't know anything about the infestation, would you? Molly_

 _7:42a Just because I 1) know where you work,_

 _7:43a 2) know how many rats it takes to be considered an infestation,_

 _7:44a and 3) have a great desire to see my girlfriend, you think I did it? SH_

 _7:44a Wouldn't it be easier to just say no? :)_ _Molly_

 _7:45a You'll find that I rarely give plain and simple answers. SH_

 _7:46a Uh huh. What time can you come over? Molly_

 _7:48a Why don't you come over here? You haven't seen my flat yet. SH_

Molly stared at her phone, pleasantly surprised.

 _7:50a I'd love to, what time? Molly_

 _7:51a Give me two hours, my flat isn't in a fit state for visitors right now. SH_

 _7:52a Dirty underwear on the floor, got it. ;) I'll see you then. Molly_

Two hours later, she knocked on the door of 221B. It was opened by an older woman with kind eyes. She smiled at Molly happily.

"You must be Sherlock's girlfriend! I'm Mrs. Hudson, his landlady."

Molly smiled back. "I'm Molly Hooper."

"Do come in." She stood aside and Molly stepped into the foyer. "I want to thank you, dear," Mrs. Hudson went on. "Not only is Sherlock happier than I've seen him in ages, he's cleaned his flat today for the first time in who knows how long."

Molly raised an eyebrow, smiling. _Typical bachelor._ "Not exactly a neat freak, then?"

Mrs. Hudson laughed. "Hardly. The only thing he's fussy about is his wardrobe, and he leaves ironing his clothes to me." At Molly's surprised look, she smiled. "Not that I mind, it's nice to be useful. He said you can go on up as soon as you get here."

She nodded, smiling. "Thank you, Mrs. Hudson." Molly started climbing the stairs, already hearing a violin coming from the next floor. _Well, he said he played,_ she thought, smiling to herself. When she got to the landing, she could recognize the song as "Dust in the Wind."

At the top of the stairs, she could see the door to what she assumed was Sherlock's sitting room was wide open. Sherlock was playing by the window, his back to her. Molly stood in the doorway and took the time to admire his body. _He has the best arse in history._

"I can feel your eyes on me, you know," he said softly, still playing.

"You can't blame me for admiring the view," she responded playfully. She moved into his field of vision, smiling at him happily when he raised his eyes to her. "You play beautifully, I've always loved violin music. I met Mrs. Hudson downstairs, she's a dear."

"She is, and thank you." He finished the tune then carefully set the Strad and bow down. "You'll be meeting my best friends John and Mary Watson soon – I suspect Mrs. Hudson has already texted them." He did not look thrilled over that prospect.

"You don't want me to meet them?" Molly realized she felt more hurt than she expected.

"I do," he said quickly, "but I expected it to be later in our relationship. Before you meet my parents, certainly." He gently wrapped his arms around her and leaned to kiss her forehead.

 _That's something we have to talk about._ "Sherlock," she said gently as she raised her hands to lightly squeeze his shoulders, "we've been dating for a week and a half. I've enjoyed every minute of it, but I'm wondering why we haven't kissed yet."

"What do you mean?" he asked, genuinely confused. "I kiss you all the time."

"Yes, on my hair, my forehead, or my cheek, but never my mouth. When I try to kiss you, you move your head so I end up kissing your cheek." She smiled a bit. "Is this your way of saying my breath smells?"

Sherlock chuckled. "No, your breath is fine. I haven't kissed you yet, or let you kiss me, because Mary said that I need to take things slow if I expect this relationship to last, what with you being on the rebound."

Molly blinked in surprise. "I'm definitely not on the rebound - you made me realize that Tom wasn't good enough for me. I'm glad you want this relationship to last. I do too, but I also don't want you to hold back." _Kiss me, dammit._

"In that case…" He lowered his head to kiss her softly.

 _Woohoo!_ Molly kissed him back then smiled up at him brightly when he pulled back. "That's what I was missing. More of those, please."

Sherlock grinned back and was about to kiss her again when they heard a voice from the doorway.

"Looks like we got here just in time, Mary," a blond man said, smirking.

Sherlock glared at him. "I liked it better when you didn't live so close." He gave Molly an apologetic look then went to relieve the blonde woman who just walked in of the toddler on her hip. Sherlock turned back to Molly. "Molly, these are my best friends, Dr. John Watson and his wife, Mary." He smiled fondly at the toddler he held, his voice softening. "And this is my goddaughter, Rosie."

Molly smiled happily. "It's very nice to meet you all, Sherlock's always talking about you."

"I doubt that," Mary said, smirking, "but it's nice of you to say." She looked Molly over, her smirk turning to a genuine smile. "You're just as Sherlock described you." Mary turned to him, ignoring his "cut it out" gesture. "What was it you said, 'the physical embodiment of cute'?"

 _Really? Aww!_ "Is that so?" Molly asked him, amused.

Sherlock's resulting blush was brighter than she'd ever seen it. "You're not even close, Mary. What I said was that Molly is both definitions of adorable – she's cute and she's worthy of adoration, in this case, mine."

 _I think my heart just melted_. Molly beamed at him then grabbed his shirt and pulled him down for a passionate kiss.

Mary grinned at her husband. John just rolled his eyes.

* * *

"You're telling me a grown man who's supposed to be in full command of his faculties willingly got into a cab driven by a serial killer?" his girlfriend asked, amazed.

Molly sat beside him on the sofa, one hand on his knee, which she would occasionally pat in sympathy while John told her of their past exploits. Sherlock had one arm around her and wished his other visitors would leave so he could wrap his other arm around her and snog her breathless.

He groaned quietly. _Of all the cases he could embarrass me with, John just had to go with that one._

His former flatmate grinned from the chair by the sofa. "Yes. I'm surprised you haven't realized yet that Sherlock doesn't have much of a self-preservation instinct."

"I don't know if it's so much that as not having the sense God gave a goose," Mary said, also grinning. She was on the floor beside the coffee table, playing with Rosie.

Sherlock rolled his eyes while Molly giggled. "I assure you, Molly, that I have much more sense than members of the _Anserini_ family and a well-honed self-preservation instinct. That night, I was more interested in what the cabbie had to say than staying safe at home."

"You know what they say about curiosity and cats, right?" John asked.

"It's a good thing I'm not a cat," he replied smugly.

Molly grinned. "I wouldn't say that – you're always well-groomed, you either act like you own the place or you sulk more than a teenager, and while you love solitude, you also love a good cuddle."

Sherlock could feel his cheeks turning pink once again. "That makes me cat-like but not a cat."

She leaned to murmur in his ear. "If I rub your ear, will you purr?"

He shivered. _Purr, meow, whatever you want._ He looked at John and Mary. "Don't you two have somewhere you need to be?"

"Yes, right here," John said, grinning. "Molly, did Sherlock tell you about the time he-"

"I think we've had enough reminiscing," he said firmly. _God knows what he'll bring up next._

Mary apparently decided to take pity on him. "We should head home, Harry's coming over for dinner."

"My sister," John explained to Molly after seeing her curious look.

"Who is celebrating one year of sobriety," Sherlock said.

"How did you … never mind," John said, shaking his head.

After goodbyes and a few "lovely to have met you" were exchanged, three of the people Sherlock cared most about in the world left, leaving him alone on the sofa with the fourth.

"Finally," he muttered. He wrapped both arms around Molly and was about to proceed with snogging her breathless when she lightly covered his mouth with her hand, grinning.

"Before we start anything, shouldn't you give me a tour of the flat?"

He stared at her. "You want a tour now?"

"Yes. Tour first, snogging later."

 _This woman is going to be the death of me, but what a sweet death it will be._ Sherlock reluctantly got up and held out a hand to her.

Molly took it and stood up, taking a good look around the room. She gravitated towards his and John's chairs by the fireplace, then looked back at him, smiling a bit. "These are where you and John sit while you talk to clients."

He nodded, smiling back. "Can you guess whose is whose?"

She turned back to the chairs and seemed to give them each serious consideration. Molly sat down in John's for a moment then got up and sat down in his. She looked up at him, grinning. "This one's yours."

"What makes you say that?

"It's just like you – sleek and sophisticated to look at, but when you try it out, you realize it's the coziest one in the room."

He felt his cheeks turning pink, again. _This is becoming quite a habit._ "Yes, that's mine."

Molly stretched a bit in his chair, giving Sherlock interesting thoughts, then she got up again and went over to the mantle. She gently picked up the skull and looked at it from several angles. "Male, middle-aged, took good care of his teeth." She turned the skull over and blinked in surprise. "Cause of death, gunshot wound." She held the upside-down skull in one hand, pointing to the hole in the occipital bone with the other.

Sherlock came over, smiling in approval. "Most people miss that when they look at Billy."

She grinned at him. "You named the skull after you?"

"I never went by Billy, I've been Sherlock since I was three. No, he's named after my uni roommate."

"Ah." She put Billy back then looked at the shadow box next to him. "Nice bat, man."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow, smirking. "Really? That's the best you can do?"

Molly smirked back. "On such short notice, yes. I'll have something better the next time I'm here."

Sherlock found himself feeling stupidly happy that she'd be back but kept it off his face. He lead her into the kitchen, which was currently cleared of experiments. He just prayed she didn't look in the fridge.

Of course, the first thing she did was look in the fridge. Holding the door open with one hand, she turned to look at him, one eyebrow raised. "Why are there handcuffs in the crisper?"

"I didn't have any place else to put them?"

Molly laughed then closed the fridge door and came over to him, smiling a bit. "After what you've told me, I'd expect to find handcuffs in the bedroom, not the refrigerator."

Sherlock felt his cheeks redden again. Molly took the opportunity to wrap her arms around his waist.

"You know, Sherlock, whatever you are or aren't into, it's okay with me," she said softly. "You don't have anything to be ashamed of."

He wrapped his arms around her, smiling weakly. "Thank you, Molly, I appreciate that, but the handcuffs aren't for sex, they're for restraining a criminal until the police come."

"So why are they in the fridge?"

"I must have put them there once when I was high." He had already told her about his past drug use and had sworn to her that those days were behind him.

"And you haven't moved them because…?"

He smiled a bit. "At least if they're in the fridge, I always know where they are."

Molly just laughed. He then showed her the bathroom and she told him she envied the size of his bathtub. Sherlock hesitated before opening the last door.

 _Neither of us are ready to take that step yet,_ he thought. _I just need to keep reminding myself of that._ He opened the door to his bedroom.

Molly walked in without hesitation. "Ooo, a sleigh bed! That's it, I'm moving in."

Sherlock chuckled, the tension leaving him. "I'm glad you approve."

She went straight to his closet and started going through his clothes. Sherlock came over when he heard her gasp. She turned to him, holding up his aubergine dress shirt by the hanger.

"Fair warning, Sherlock," Molly said, smirking. "If you ever wear this one around me, I'm going to jump you."

Inside his head, his brain screeched to a halt as he stared at her, blinking.

Molly smiled a bit. "So, that's what John meant by 'buffering.'" She put the shirt back.

Sherlock soon recovered enough to grab her by her upper arms and pull her to him, capturing her lips with his in a desperate kiss. He felt like the king of the world when she started to kiss him back, but when she started unbuttoning his shirt, he broke the kiss and gently stilled her hands with his own.

"Not yet," he murmured breathlessly. "There's still so much for us to learn about each other."

"Sherlock…" she whispered, "I don't know how much longer I can last. Do you have any idea how sexy you are?"

He laughed weakly. "This isn't easy for me, either, Molly. Any attraction I've felt for others in the past pales in comparison to my desire for you. I'd take you to bed right now but I know that would be rushing things. I want to take my time with you. You're worth it."

She gazed up at him, blinking away tears, then smiled weakly. "I think we'd better leave the bedroom."

"Excellent idea," Sherlock said. He smiled a bit. "Netflix and chill again?"

"Perfect."

* * *

It was Saturday a week later that Molly suggested that they go on a double-date with the Watsons to her favorite pub. Sherlock dithered until Molly pointed out that this was a chance for her to show off her handsome boyfriend. That earned her a blush and his acquiescence.

The four of them were seated at a table and still on their first pints when an angry voice spoke up.

"This is the guy you dumped me for, Molly? I thought you had better taste than that."

 _Bloody hell…_ She took a deep breath then turned around to face her ex-boyfriend. "It's funny, Tom – my taste greatly improved after I dumped you."

"I'm the one who dumped you, and dumped my coffee on you." His snickering told her he'd already had multiple pints.

Sherlock got up and faced him, his body as taut as a violin string. "I suggest you leave, Tom."

"I'll leave when I bloody well want to. Neither you nor that bitch-" Tom fell to the floor, a hand to his now bloody nose.

"Sherlock, that's enough," John said firmly as he and Mary got up. "Leave him and let's go." Mary laid down enough money to cover their drinks.

"He's right," Molly said gently. "Tom's not worth exerting all that energy." She put her arm around his waist and he put his arm around her shoulders as they started to walk out of the bar.

"I hope she puts out more for you than she did for me," Tom called out from his position on the floor.

"Excuse me a moment," Molly said sweetly. She let Sherlock go then walked back to Tom and punched him squarely in the mouth. "Maybe that'll teach you to keep it shut."

When they were outside, Sherlock turned to her, grinning. "Have I told you how fantastic you are?"

"No," she replied, grinning just as wide.

He wrapped his arms around her. "Or how amazing you are?"

She wrapped her arms around him. "Still no."

He lowered his head to murmur in her ear, "Or how much I love you?"

"No," she murmured back, "but I'm sure it's as much as I love you."


End file.
